


The Grace to Find What Can't Be Found

by enigmaticblue



Series: Dean Winchester, Agent of SHIELD [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: trope_bingo, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: Sam loses his innocence and his brother; he might be able to get his brother back.





	The Grace to Find What Can't Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Over the Rhine song, “Long Lost Brother.” Fills the “loss of innocence" prompt for trope_bingo. For anybody who wondered what the hell Sam was thinking—this is the answer to that question.

“I thought that we’d be/Further along by now/I can’t remember how/We stumbled to this place…I wanna do better/I wanna try harder/I wanna believe/Down to the letter… Trouble is I’m so exhausted/The plot, you see, I think I’ve lost it/I need the grace to find what can’t be found.” ~Over the Rhine, “Long Lost Brother

 

**Hurleyville, New York, Spring 1995**

 

Sam wakes suddenly, glancing at the clock and realizing that it’s late— _really_ late. Dean left to get them something to eat hours ago, and it’s unlike him to stay gone so long. Sam hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but as the hours ticked by, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open, and now it’s after 4 am, and there’s still no Dean.

 

If Dean had returned, he would have woken Sam up, told him to get his lazy ass up and eat since he was so hungry. Sam can hear Dean’s words in his head, and the fact that he’s not here means something happened.

 

He’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, trying to decide what his next step ought to be, when his dad comes charging into the room. “Good, you’re up,” he says. “Get your stuff together. We’re leaving.”

 

Sam swallows. “Where’s Dean?”

 

John barely spares Sam a glance, but Sam can see the stress and the worry, and it ratchets up his own concern. “Don’t worry about your brother. He can take care of himself.”

 

“He was going to get something for us to eat,” Sam protests. “We have to wait for him.”

 

“I won’t tell you again, Sam,” John snaps. “Get your stuff. Dean has a job to do, and so do you, so get to it.”

 

Sam wants to protest again, but he knows that expression on John’s face. His dad has never hit him or Dean, at least not more than a swat on the butt, but he’s not above using his size to intimidate. John is big, and Sam is small, and Dean isn’t there to mediate.

 

Sullenly, his stomach still growling, Sam starts to throw his clothing into his bag, although there isn’t much to pack.

 

There never really is.

 

He doesn’t ask any more questions about Dean. Looking back, he should have.

 

**Rulo, Nebraska, Spring 2015**

 

Sam wakes with a gasp, his hand reaching for the weapon that’s never far from his hand. He’s in a rundown motel in the middle of Nebraska, doing his best to banish a vengeful spirit.

 

Rulo is a hotbed of activity, although maybe that’s no surprise. Sam likes to think he’s not shocked by much these days, but Mike Ryan’s Nazi cult and its victims struck him hard. He’s salted and burned the bones of three bodies and he’s pretty sure he’s taken care of the problem.

 

Dean’s still not picking up when he calls either. He’s tried a couple of times, but hasn’t left a message, but maybe Dean isn’t picking up because he’s busy. Sam glances at the time and realizes that it’s after 10 am in New York, so he decides to try again.

 

The call goes straight to voicemail, and Sam has no idea if that’s because Dean’s phone is turned off, or if he denied the call.

 

_This is Dean Winchester. Leave me a message._

 

“Dean, it’s me,” Sam says. “Look, I’m sorry. I think we both said some things we regret, and I could have been more understanding. Call me back, man.”

 

He hangs up and tosses his phone aside, rubbing his eyes. The expression on Dean’s face when Sam accused him of not knowing how lucky he was haunts Sam. That expression is the reason Sam keeps trying, rather than waiting for Dean to call.

 

That, and Dean’s words about his brothers, the guys he watched bleed out. Sam’s stomach clenches as he remembers how Dean’s voice shook as he listed their names.

 

He remembers what Dean said in that cage, that there were things he couldn’t divulge, things he wouldn’t do, not even to save Sam.

 

Sam wonders if Dean would have crossed the line for those guys.

 

He takes a quick shower and pulls on clean—well, clean- _ish_ —clothing. The jeans have dirt stains, but he’ll probably have to dig up another corpse today, so there’s no sense in trying to put on some clean clothes, or trying to do laundry before he’s done.

 

That night, there’s no recurrence of ghost activity, and Sam heads for Bobby’s since he isn’t too far away.

 

After all, he can use Bobby’s laundry facilities at no cost, and he kind of wants to talk to someone about what happened to Dean.

 

He arrives in Sioux Falls midafternoon the next day after sleeping in, and finds Bobby working on a car in the front of his house.

 

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam calls as he gets out of the Impala.

 

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Bobby replies from under the hood of the beat-up Toyota. “You know where.”

 

Sam shoves an armful of dirty clothes in the washer and gets that started, then grabs a beer from the fridge before rejoining Bobby in the yard. Spring has sprung in South Dakota, although there’s a bit of a bite to the air still.

 

He leans on the bumper next to Bobby, uncertain of how to begin, or what he should say about Dean’s new abilities.

 

“Did you talk to your brother?” Bobby asks gruffly.

 

Sam called Bobby when he couldn’t get in touch with Dean, before he camped out at Dean’s place, so there’s no lying about it. “Yeah. He was on a mission and lost his phone.”

 

Bobby keeps working, letting the silence hang, and Sam figures the sixth sense he’s developed over the years regarding Winchesters is telling him to maintain his silence now.

 

“Dean developed some special powers,” Sam finally says.

 

“How?”

 

Sam winces, realizing that he hadn’t even asked that much. “I don’t know.” Bobby gives him a quick, unimpressed look. “I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

 

“You know what he can do now?”

 

“He can blow things up with his brain,” Sam replies, remembering what it felt like to hear things exploding around him. That plus the continued silence is a pretty good indicator of just how pissed Dean is at him.

 

Bobby’s eyebrows go up, and then he snorts. “Makes sense.”

 

“How do you mean?” Sam asks.

 

“Dean’s specialty is demolitions,” Bobby replies.

 

There’s a silent censure in those words, and Sam probably should have known that. He would have known if he’d asked or paid attention.

 

“We argued,” Sam admits, partially as an explanation for why he doesn’t know how Dean wound up with special powers.

 

“And it’s a day ending in Y,” Bobby mutters. “What happened?”

 

“Dean is lucky,” Sam defends himself. “He was acting like having special powers and being one of the Avengers was a problem.”

 

Bobby stops what he’s doing to stare at him. “Tell me you didn’t actually say that.”

 

Sam feels his face flush. “He is!”

 

Bobby shakes his head.

 

Sam shifts. “Dean won’t return my calls.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Bobby replies. “Not if you said something like that. How did he react?”

 

“Not well,” Sam admits ruefully.

 

Bobby straightens to look at Sam head on. “You need to get it through your thick skull that there are a lot of ways to serve, Sam. Being a hunter, helping people that way, is an honorable profession, even if we have to resort to methods some might deem dishonorable. But your brother—he chose to sign up, to serve his country, and you’ve never understood that.”

 

“He never talked to me about it,” Sam protests.

 

“You never wanted to hear it,” Bobby replied. “You didn’t listen to me when I tried talking to you either.”

 

Sam vaguely remembers that conversation. He’d been angry at the time, and he hadn’t wanted to listen, hadn’t wanted to understand why Dean couldn’t just come back to him.

 

At the time, he hadn’t understood why Dean left in the first place.

 

Bobby suddenly says, “I never agreed with John’s decision to leave you in the dark. I didn’t tell you because he threatened to pack you up and disappear for good, and I couldn’t have that, and not just for you, but for Dean, too. When Dean said not to say anything, I figured it was his story to tell, and a smart kid like you would figure it out.”

 

Sam figures he probably should have, that Dean and Bobby had been counting on it, but he hadn’t. He’d just accepted what his dad told him, too hurt by Dean’s abandonment to question the why of it.

 

“You know what happened,” Sam says.

 

Bobby looks at him, and Sam can’t read anything other than disappointment in his expression. “Boy, I served my country. I don’t need to know the details to see the ghosts haunting your brother.”

 

“It’s not my fault!” Sam protests.

 

“No, and I’m not saying it is, but you have to stop thinking of yourself as a martyr to your dad’s quest for vengeance,” Bobby replies. “Because maybe when you can do that, you can start seeing the sacrifices your brother made.”

 

And then Bobby goes back to working on the Toyota, leaving Sam to his tumultuous thoughts.

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Late Summer/Early Fall 2000**

 

Sam slumps against the passenger door, staring out at the sunbaked hills surrounding Sioux Falls.

 

“I thought you liked it at Bobby’s house,” his dad says in a bid at conversation.

 

Sam’s not about to indulge him, not when he’s this pissed off.

 

“It’s just for a little while,” John cajoles. “I got a line on a case, and school is starting in a couple of weeks. I thought you’d enjoy the chance to stay in one place.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

If Dean had been around, his dad wouldn’t be dumping him on Uncle Bobby. They’d stay wherever Dad was going to be, or they’d stay in a motel while their dad ran down leads.

 

If Dean hadn’t been so fucking stupid, Sam’s life would be infinitely better.

 

As soon as John pulls up in front of Singer’s Salvage Yard, Sam opens the door and throws himself out of the Impala. He grabs his bag from the backseat and runs into the house and up the stairs before his dad can say anything.

 

He doesn’t want to talk to his dad, who can fuck right off.

 

Sam stays in the bedroom for the next few hours, until the sun sets, and he’s sure his dad is gone. Bobby’s in the kitchen, frying burgers on the stove, and he glances over his shoulder at Sam.

 

“Your dad said goodbye, and he’ll be back in a few weeks.”

 

“Whatever,” Sam mutters. “Like he won’t end up finding another job, and the next thing you know it’s Christmas.”

 

“You hate it here that much?” Bobby asks, and his tone is more amused than angry, which pulls a laugh out of Sam.

 

“No,” Sam admits. “It’s just—if Dean were around, I’d be with him. I like it here, but—I just wish Dean were here, too.”

 

Bobby hesitates. “Sam, you know Dean joined the Army. He’s been in training at Ft. Benning.”

 

Sam grimaces. “How do you know?”

 

“He called me and asked where you and your dad were right after he graduated,” Bobby replies. “I didn’t know at the time, and he said he was going to enlist.”

 

Sam frowns. “Enlist?”

 

“In the Army,” Bobby says.

 

“But he’s coming back,” Sam says. “I mean, I’m here now. You know where I am, and Dad will be back, too. Dean can just stay here.”

 

Bobby shakes his head. “That’s not how Army contracts work. Once he signs, he has to fulfill his obligation.”

 

“What about his obligation to his family?” Sam demands. “Why would he do that? He could have come here instead!”

 

“Your brother made the choice he thought was right,” Bobby says gruffly. “And he chose to serve his country. You should be proud of him.”

 

Sam sits and seethes. How _dare_ Dean just _leave him_. He could have stayed with Bobby! Hell, even if he couldn’t find them, he could have stayed with Bobby.

 

In fact, it’s not like their dad hasn’t been in trouble with the law before, and he’d found ways to get out of it. Sam doesn’t understand why Dean couldn’t do the same.

 

And now Dean had graduated from high school, something that’s going to take Sam at least another year to do, and maybe more. They were moving around so much over the last few years that Sam is more than a little behind.

 

He wants to finish and get his diploma, because that will look better on his college applications, but maybe he should just get his GED. If he can’t finish up school in Sioux Falls, he probably will.

 

Which means yet another dream down the drain, sacrificed to his dad’s obsession with hunting.

 

If Dean were here, Sam knows he would have been able to finish high school at least.

 

Bobby puts his plate in front of him with the hamburger and a bun, then pulls a baking sheet out of the oven with tater tots. “Help yourself.”

 

Sam remembers his manners enough to murmur a thank you.

 

“From what your dad said, he might be awhile,” Bobby says. “You’re more than welcome to stay here as long as it takes for you to finish school. You’re old enough to make that decision for yourself.”

 

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that would be good. Thanks, Bobby.”

 

“You boys are always welcome here,” Bobby says, and if there’s a double meaning to that—and there is—Sam misses it.

 

At least right up until a couple of months later when Dean arrives in a uniform, his hair buzzed off, a little bulkier than Sam remembers. Dean grabs him up in a bear hug that feels so good, but then drops his bombshell.

 

“I have to report back to base on Wednesday,” Dean says.

 

“You’re not staying?” Sam asks. “You’re just going to leave again?”

 

Bobby puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I told you, Sam. Dean’s in the Army. He doesn’t have a choice about how long he stays, and he can only stay here a few days.”

 

“But you had a choice about joining the Army, didn’t you?” Sam demands. “You didn’t have to.”

 

Dean hesitates. “No, I guess I didn’t have to. That was my choice.”

 

Sam can’t hear any real regret in Dean’s voice. He can tell that Dean missed him, but if Dean really missed him, wouldn’t he do whatever it took to be with Sam?

 

Sam understands that Dean signed a contract, even without Bobby’s reminder, but their dad breaks the law all the time. _Hunters_ break the law all the time when the law gets in the way of what they need to do. Sam doesn’t understand why Dean can’t break his contract and stay with them.

 

He doesn’t know why Dean couldn’t have done that in the first place.

 

“You left me alone with Dad,” Sam snaps. “You just disappeared. Dad said you had a job, but I know that was a lie.”

 

Dean doesn’t bother to dispute Sam’s statement. “You’re right. I got into a little trouble, and I had to lay low for a while. I had to keep you and Dad out of it.”

  

“Whatever,” Sam says, more convinced than ever that Dean had just taken the opportunity to get out of the hunting life. “Just stay away from me. That’s all you’re good at anyway.”

 

He avoids Dean for the rest of the weekend, and is grateful when he has to go to school on Monday. He stays late, spending time in the library even though he’s not sure it will do much good.

 

Something about knowing Dean isn’t coming back, that he’s finished high school and is in the Army, takes the heart right out of Sam.

 

Sam always figured that Dean would return, and Sam would be able to get out of the life, go to college, but they had to move around so much after Dean got in trouble, sometimes every couple of weeks, Sam wound up hopelessly behind.

 

He can’t help but blame Dean for that, too.

 

After Dean leaves on Wednesday, Sam heads back to Bobby’s right after the final bell.

 

“Your brother left a couple of hours ago,” Bobby says as Sam enters the kitchen to grab a snack. “As I’m sure you’re probably aware.”

 

Sam pours a glass of milk. “So?”

 

“Your brother completed his Ranger training, Sam,” Bobby says. “We might not be at war right now, but there are plenty of conflicts he could wind up in.”

 

Sam takes his glass and heads upstairs, throwing a comment over his shoulder as he goes. “Dean left me first, Bobby. I don’t have anything to say to him.”

 

Sam doesn’t have anything to say to Dean for a long, long time.

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Spring 2015**

 

“Got a case for you,” Bobby says a couple of days after Sam arrives. “Looks like a wendigo in Montana.”

 

Sam takes the newspaper Bobby holds out and glances at the headline.

 

_Three Missing in Yellowstone—Bear Attacks on the Rise?_

 

“It could actually be an animal attack,” Sam points out without much hope.

 

Bobby snorts. “I think I know a wendigo when I see one, Sam.”

 

Sam knows the other part of that is Bobby wanting him out on the road again, rather than haunting Singer’s Salvage Yard, in between his shifts at the bar, brooding about Dean’s refusal to answer his calls. Sam could hang out at his apartment, but somehow that’s worse, the silence echoing with the words he wishes he hadn’t said, and those he wishes he had.

 

He knows he should give Dean some time to cool off, but it’s like picking at a scab; he just can’t help himself.

 

Sam calls Dean on his way out of Sioux Falls and leaves another message, then calls again once the wendigo is dead a few days later. By then, he’s picked up on the trail of a ghoul in Portland, so he calls Dean from the motel once he’s checked in.

 

This time is different, though, because someone picks up on the second ring with a flat, harsh, “What.”

 

There’s no question behind the word, and it takes Sam a second to place the voice. “Natasha?”

 

“Yes,” she replies, still cold. “What do you want, Sam?”

 

“I was calling to talk to my brother,” Sam replies. “Is he around?”

 

“Why do you want to talk to him?”

 

Sam blinks. “Uh, I didn’t like how we left things. I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

 

She doesn’t respond to his unspoken question. “If you wanted to apologize, you would have done so already. Instead, you want to know that Dean isn’t going to hold what you said against you without doing any of the hard work.”

 

She has him dead to rights, but Sam doesn’t want to admit that. “Can I talk to Dean?”

 

“No, and he isn’t taking your calls,” Natasha replies. “If you persist, I will hunt you down and string you up by your dick. Don’t bother calling again until you’re ready to offer a real apology.”

 

She hangs up on him, and Sam pulls in a deep breath, realizing that he’s actually a little scared. He doesn’t doubt that she’ll do exactly what she threatened to do, and he has no idea what to do now.

 

He’s not used to being on this end of things, not with Dean, and for the first time Sam wonders if his relationship with his brother is going to survive this.

 

**Norman, Oklahoma, Early Summer 1995**

 

Sam trudges back to the motel, his pack slung over one shoulder. It’s the last day of school for the year, and they’ve been in Norman for a month, just long enough for Sam to finish out his school year.

 

They’ve been on the move every few weeks since Hurleyville, and Sam is starting to get suspicious. If Dean had been on a job, he would have wrapped it up by now. If he’d been grabbed by the cops, he would have contacted Sam by now.

 

“Pack up,” John orders as soon as Sam enters the room.

 

Sam has had enough. “I want to know what’s going on.”

 

“I told you to pack up,” John snaps. “You pack up.”

 

“No,” Sam replies, setting his jaw. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Where’s Dean? Why hasn’t he joined us? Is he in trouble?”

 

“Stop asking questions, and get moving!” John roars.

 

Sam glares at him. “No! I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

 

Sam doesn’t know how things would have ended, or what John might have done, but someone pounds on the door. “Is something wrong?” a man calls.

 

John glares at Sam and stalks over to the door, opening it a bare inch. “We’re fine.”

 

“I’m going to need to talk to your son, sir,” the man replies.

 

Sam holds his breath, waiting to see what his dad does. After a tense few moments, John swings the door open wide and motions to Sam.

 

“You okay, son?” the man asks, and Sam recognizes him as the manager of the motel. He’s probably got ten years on his dad, and maybe fifty pounds. He’s grizzled and graying, but his eyes are kind and worried.

 

“I’m okay,” Sam insists, summoning up a smile. “It was just a disagreement.”

 

“He didn’t hit you?” the man asks insistently.

 

Sam shakes his head, sensing his dad vibrating with tension, and he knows John’s about ready to chase the man off with his fists. “No, we were just arguing.”

 

The man nods reluctantly. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’m just fine,” Sam insists. “Really. We were just arguing.”

 

“Thanks for your concern,” John says gruffly and shoves the door closed in the man’s face. “Pack up, Sammy.”

 

Sam knows the manager is probably still hanging around outside the door, so it seems a prime time to ask his questions and get answers. His dad will be forced to answer without shouting. “I want to know what happened to Dean.”

 

“Dean was stupid, and he got caught breaking the law,” John replies, keeping his voice low, although his tone is harsh. “He has to serve his time.”

 

Sam blinks. “What did he do?”

 

John hesitates. “He got into a fight.”

 

“How long?” Sam asks.

 

John shakes his head. “A few months.”

 

Sam feels the news like a punch to the gut. “Is he coming back?”

 

“Maybe when the courts release him,” John replies. “But you need to pack up, Sammy.”

 

Sam starts to pack, subdued. He doesn’t want to risk someone calling the cops and winding up in the system himself. John has impressed upon him and Dean just how serious that could be, how imperative it is that no one ever suspect John of abuse or neglect. The appearance of the manager is a reminder of that.

 

“Give me your phone,” John says once Sam has packed.

 

Sam hesitates, but he hands the phone over. He’s not surprised when his dad pulls out the SIM card and breaks it, then throws the phone in the trash.

 

But he does wonder how Dean is supposed to find them, especially after John takes his own phone and does the same thing.

 

**Northern California, Late Summer, 2015**

 

Sam watches the abandoned house burn and then turns away. He’s been working the northwest the last few months since leaving Bobby’s. There had been the wendigo in Montana, a trio of ghouls in Portland, a werewolf in Wyoming, and now the rugaru in a small town in northern California.

 

In truth, Sam has been chasing one job after another in a bid to distract himself from Dean’s continued silence.

 

He checks the time and sees that it’s not quite midnight, which means that he’s got some time before last call. He’d seen a rundown bar on his way in, and he wants a cold beer and maybe a shot of Jack.

 

Sam sits down at the scarred, wooden bar, slightly tacky with spilled drinks, and hands over a ten-dollar bill for a pint and a shot. He slams back the shot and takes a long swallow of beer.

 

The television over the bar is tuned into CNN, and the anchor is reporting on the Avengers. “Reports are in that the Avengers’ newest member, codenamed Demo, saved three people yesterday after a terrorist attack in Bedford-Stuyvesant.”

 

Sam takes another long drink of his beer as they roll footage of Dean in an Avengers uniform. He’s carrying a small girl on one hip, ushering an older boy ahead of him. He looks utterly confident and heroic, and Sam feels a mix of pride and jealousy.

 

“Word is he’s got some sort of special ability,” the bartender comments. “Personally, I think his superpower is the way he fills out that uniform,” she says with a wink.

 

Sam forces a smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

 

“You don’t have to swing that way to know he’s a fine looking man,” she teases.

 

Sam opens his mouth to explain that Dean’s his brother, and then stops. Why would she believe him?

 

“No, you’re right,” Sam agrees. “He does look good.”

 

“I hear he’s dating Black Widow,” the bartender comments. “I’m not sure who I envy more.”

 

Sam offers a tight smile. “Yeah, well, they’re both very attractive people, and also superheroes. It would be quite the workplace romance.”

 

The bartender frowns at him. “Do you have something against him?”

 

Sam hesitates. “This is going to be hard to believe.”

 

“Shoot,” she replies. “If it helps, my name is Karla. And you?”

 

“Sam,” he says. “Sam Winchester.”

 

Karla’s gaze sharpens. “Any relation?”

 

“My brother,” Sam admits. “We, uh, we got separated when I was 12, and we’ve been having a hard time reconnecting.”

 

She gives him a disbelieving look. “Your brother is a superhero?”

 

“That was pretty much my reaction,” Sam admits. “Look, here.”

 

He fishes out his phone and pulls up a picture of him and Dean on the roof of Dean’s building. Barton had taken it one time when Sam swung through New York, before everything went to shit.

 

In the photo, Dean’s wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, his arm around Sam’s shoulders, a beer in his other hand, and a bright grin on his face.

 

“Huh,” Karla says. “I’ll be damned. What happened?”

 

Sam frowns. “What makes you say that?”

 

“That look on your face when I mentioned your brother,” Karla replies. “And it wasn’t just because I was admiring his ass.”

 

Sam chuckles, but without much humor in the sound. “Yeah, well, I might have said some things the last time I saw him that were kind of dickish, and now we’re not talking.”

 

“So, call him,” she replies.

 

“He’s not taking my calls,” Sam replies. “And his girlfriend threatened to string me up by my dick if I didn’t stop calling.”

 

She laughs. “Oh, wow. In those exact words?”

 

“Pretty much,” Sam admits.

 

“You must have really pissed her off.”

 

“I can’t say she didn’t have cause,” Sam admits. “I was a real asshole to her boyfriend.”

 

Karla smiles. “I have a younger brother. I’m pretty sure that’s part of the job description.”

 

Sam chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve got that sewn up then.”

 

“You have somewhere you need to be tonight?” Karla asks.

 

Karla is an attractive blonde—on the tall and curvy side, with dimples and bright blue eyes. She’s offering a flirty smile, and Sam suddenly wants nothing more than to take her up on her offer, get out of his own head for a while.

 

“I don’t know,” Sam replies. “When do you get off?”

 

“Give me a couple of hours,” she says. “My place isn’t too far from here.”

 

Sam nods. “In that case, I’ll have another beer.”

 

She pours him another one, and says, “It’s on the house.”

 

Sam nurses the second beer, a thrum of anticipation heating his blood. It’s been a while since he picked anybody up in a bar, or had them pick him up.

 

Karla’s place is only a few blocks away, and so they walk it. Sam is feeling a little buzzed, a little horny, and when the door closes behind him, Karla pushes him against it.

 

Sam doesn’t mind an aggressive woman, and he’s more than down with rough and ready sex. Karla urges him on with her hands and her words. “Yes, there,” she says when Sam rubs his hand over her crotch with her jeans still on.

 

She grabs him in turn, and then pulls him back to her bedroom. She sticks her hand down his pants and pumps his dick a couple of times, causing Sam to hiss in a mixture of pain and arousal.

 

Their fucking is rough, but it’s exactly what Sam needs. He can’t think about anything but Karla and her heels digging into his ass, pulling him close. She tugs on his hair and bites his shoulder, and Sam rolls on a condom and fucks her as hard as she wants.

 

He finishes first and then makes sure she orgasms on his fingers and mouth.

 

Sam has no intention of staying the night, and is saved from having to make his excuses when Karla says, “So, not to be awkward, but I generally don’t let guys sleep over.”

 

“I was just trying to come up with a smooth way to leave,” Sam admits. “Thanks for the great night.”

 

He gets up and starts pulling his clothing on, and Karla says, “Look, Sam, give your brother some time, okay? I can’t pretend to know either of you, but there have been times when my brother really pissed me off. I always forgave him.”

 

“Even when he was a giant dick?” Sam asks, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

 

“Yeah, even then, after the appropriate amount of time and groveling,” Karla replies. “Stay safe, Sam.”

 

“You too,” he replies. “Thanks.”

 

“Thank _you_ ,” she returns.

 

Sam just hopes she’s right, and Dean eventually forgives him.

 

**Hurleyville, New York, Early Summer 2013**

 

In just a few months, Sam’s entire worldview changes. At age 12, his dad told him that Dean left, and by that summer, Sam figured out that Dean was in trouble with the law. John finally told him that Dean got into a fight, and Sam accepted that explanation.

 

Sam made assumptions, but seeing Dean getting shot on TV put paid to those. And then what Bobby says, and what Dean says, sends Sam off to Hurleyville.

 

He’s not sure what he expects to find there, but it’s not Sonny’s place, which seems pretty idyllic as far as group homes go. There’s a house and a barn and bikes in the front yard, along with a couple of boys throwing a football around.

 

They stop when Sam pulls up, watching him suspiciously, and Sam feels self-conscious as he climbs out from behind the wheel.

 

“Can I help you, mister?” one of the boys asks, and he seems to be the older of the two.

 

“I’m looking for some information,” Sam admits. “Is, uh, Sonny still around?”

 

He doesn’t have a lot to go on, just what Bobby told him—that Dean had spent time in a group home in Hurleyville, New York, and he’d mentioned a guy named Sonny who had been really good to Dean.

 

The younger boy starts trotting up to the house. “Sonny!” he yells. “Hey, Sonny!”

 

Sam smiles, but it falls off his face quickly due to nerves. The man who greets him has longish dark hair and a goatee, with warm, friendly eyes. “Can I help you?”

 

“Uh, I hope so,” Sam replies. “My name is Sam Winchester?”

 

He’s decided to go with the truth this time, because that’s what he’s after. If Sonny doesn’t remember Dean, that’s one thing, but—

 

“Any relation to Dean Winchester?” he asks.

 

“He’s my older brother,” Sam admits. “Our uncle told me Dean stayed here after we lost touch.”

 

Sonny nods. “Yeah, Dean was real torn up when your dad didn’t show up on his 18th birthday.”

 

Sam frowns. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Why don’t you come inside?” Sonny invites. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“Water would be great,” Sam replies, feeling a sense of trepidation as he follows Sonny inside. “How long did Dean stay with you?”

 

“Through the end of his senior year,” Sonny says. “He did really good, too. Straight A’s, lettered in wrestling, dated a nice girl. I saw him on the news not too long ago. Looks like he landed on his feet.”

 

Sam nods. “I guess so. Aside from getting shot, anyway.”

 

“Have you seen him?”

 

Sam nods. “A few months ago, I guess. Something he said made me start asking questions.”

 

“You know why he was here?” Sonny asks.

 

“He got into some trouble,” Sam replies. “I thought maybe a fight.”

 

Sonny hands him a glass of water. “He got caught shoplifting food.”

 

He doesn’t say more than that, and Sam has a flash of memory.

 

_He’s twelve years old, and their dad has been gone for two weeks. They’ve been down to peanut butter sandwiches for the last two days, and he’s hungry._

_“Dean, I’m hungry,” he says again. “I can’t sleep when I’m hungry.”_

_“We don’t have any food,” Dean replies impatiently. “We have to wait until Dad gets back.”_

_“Well, when is he coming back?” Sam asks—knowing he’s whining, but unable to help himself. He just wants something to eat. “Is it gonna be soon?”_

_“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean replies._

_“Why can’t you call him?”_

_“I already did, and he’s busy,” Dean says. “Just—go eat some peanut butter or something.”_

_“I ate all the peanut butter,” Sam protests. “And it’s just the heel left of the bread, and I hate the heel.”_

_Dean sighs, put upon. “Yeah, I know. Look, stay here and keep the door locked until I get back. I’ll get you something to eat.”_

 

Sam remembers he’d waited for a while, expecting Dean to be back shortly with something off the McDonald’s dollar menu, falling asleep until his dad woke him up.

 

Now, looking back, Sam knows exactly what happened—at least up until the point where Dean got arrested.

 

“What—what happened?” Sam asks.

 

Sonny hesitates. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

 

“No, but I think I need to hear it,” Sam replies.

 

“When your dad didn’t show up at the hearing to determine Dean’s sentence, and the court couldn’t reach him, they had another hearing about long term placement,” Sonny replies. “Dean called your dad and warned him.”

 

Sam frowns. “Why?”

 

“Because when one kid is in the system, the whole family can get pulled in,” Sonny replies. “Dean knew your dad wouldn’t want to risk it, but you’d know why that worried him better than I would.”

 

“Why would anybody even wonder?” Sam asks.

 

Sonny shrugs. “When a kid is shoplifting food, people ask some questions. Most of the time, they don’t like the answers.”

 

Sam can’t pretend that’s not true. They wouldn’t have even needed to dig that deep. At twelve, Sam might have inadvertently let something slip. If asked, he might have talked about days of peanut butter sandwiches, or living in motel rooms. He might have said something about being hungry, or being left alone with Dean for long stretches.

 

At twelve, Sam wouldn’t have meant to fuck things up, but he could have. His dad wouldn’t have wanted to lose both of his sons to the system.

 

There are a lot of things that make sense in retrospect—Dean wouldn’t have left him, not if he had a choice. His dad started moving them even more often, keeping them off the grid even more than usual. For a long time, they hadn’t even seen Bobby. Granted, Sam’s pretty sure that his dad caught a case around that time, one that related to what happened to their mom. He’ll have to look through their dad’s journal again to be sure.

 

“Did they have something to find?” Sonny asks.

 

“Yeah, probably,” Sam says. “Or they would have thought so at the time.”

 

Sonny nods. “I gathered as much from Dean, although he was never specific.”

 

Sam hesitates. “But when Dean turned 18…there wasn’t any risk, right?”

 

“No,” Sonny admits. “And he called your uncle, who said he hadn’t been in touch with either of you in a while.”

 

Sam feels that comment like a punch to the gut. Whatever his dad’s reasons for leaving Dean at Sonny’s—and they might be good ones—it doesn’t explain why they didn’t pick Dean up the day after his 18th birthday. Nor does it explain why their dad didn’t leave word with Bobby where Dean could find them.

 

He has some answers now—he knows why Dean wound up here, at least—but he doesn’t know why his dad had abandoned Dean.

 

“Do you know why Dean enlisted?” Sam asks.

 

Sonny smiles. “The recruiters came to the high school, and Dean was a star wrestler. They were very interested in him, and Dean wanted to help people. He said that’s what your dad did.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what he always said,” Sam replies. “He said we were in the business of saving people.”

 

“And hunting things?” Sonny asks.

 

Sam blinks. “Dean told you?”

 

“I got enough to put the pieces together,” Sonny says. “Are you going to be okay?”

 

Sam nods. “Yeah, of course. I should get going, let you get back to what you’re doing.”

 

“Your brother is a good man,” Sonny says, standing when Sam does. “One of the best I’ve had come through here. He looked after the other boys, and I have to think that at least part of it was him missing you.”

 

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, probably. Thanks for this. I really should go.”

 

“Feel free to stop in if you’re back through this way,” Sonny says, and holds out a hand for Sam to shake.

 

Sam keeps his emotions under control until he gets behind the wheel of the Impala and he’s a few miles away. At that point, he pulls over to the side of the road and just breathes.

 

Years of lies flash before Sam’s eyes, years of thinking Dean abandoned them when the opposite had been true.

 

Years of thinking that his dad’s favorite was Dean, when he’d chosen Sam and Sam’s welfare over Dean’s.

 

It’s beyond fucked up, and Sam doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

Something is bothering him, and he pulls John Winchester’s journal out of the glove compartment. He doesn’t flip through it often, but he does so now.

 

The journal goes back years, but his dad didn’t date the entries all that often. Still, he’s able to narrow down the entries, and combined with his shaky memories, he can put the pieces together.

 

His dad had a lead on the demon that killed his mom around Dean’s birthday, and he’d been around only sporadically for a few weeks. Since it’s John Winchester they’re talking about, he probably got distracted, maybe didn’t realize how much time had passed.

 

It still doesn’t explain why Dean hadn’t contacted Bobby to pass a message along to John, or why Dean hadn’t left Sonny’s.

 

For those answers, Sam will have to talk to Bobby.

 

He goes to put the journal back in the glove box and sees a slightly yellowed envelope fall out. Sam sees Dean’s name on the front, in his dad’s handwriting, and he remembers seeing it before, shoving it back in the journal, and forgetting all about it.

 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to destroy it, but he hadn’t been able to give it to Dean either.

 

Sam taps the envelope against the dashboard. The least he can do is give the letter to Dean. He’ll get the rest of the answers from Bobby later, after he does this one thing.

 

**Des Moines, Iowa, Summer 2015**

 

Sam’s chasing a haunting in Iowa when he realizes that it’s not a vengeful spirit or a poltergeist, but a person. A person with special powers like Dean’s.

 

The reports come in from an area along the Des Moines River, widely regarded as one of the worst areas of the city. The crime rate is fairly high for the area, but the reports are indicative of a poltergeist or some kind of vengeful spirit.

 

Sam has been through Des Moines enough to know that it’s a nice city, but even the nicest cities have rough areas, and this is one of them. He and Bobby talked the job over, and Bobby offers to take it, but Sam is taking every hunt that crosses his path. Bobby thinks it might be squatters, not supernatural activity, but Sam doesn’t mind checking it out.

 

It’s something to do, a distraction, and Sam will take every distraction he can.

 

Sam slips inside the warehouse after the sun goes down, bypassing the security easily, since it consists of a padlock and chain. Considering the multiple broken windows, the chain and padlock aren’t doing much to keep people out.

 

The warehouse is full of detritus, and Sam adjusts his grip on the shotgun full of rock salt as he looks around. He sees graffiti and a few other signs of life, and he frowns. He doesn’t want to shoot anybody by accident, which is probably the biggest risk at this point.

 

Suddenly, a board comes flying at Sam’s head, and he ducks just in time when he sees it out of the corner of his eye. He barely has a chance to avoid the next projectile, and Sam is starting to think he might have a poltergeist on his hands even though that makes no sense. Why would there be a poltergeist in a warehouse?

 

Unless…

 

“Who’s here?” Sam calls. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

 

A crate comes hurtling at him, and Sam rolls and fires his shotgun in the direction the box came from.

 

He feels a force yank on the shotgun and he hangs onto it with some difficulty, and the weapon discharges into the ceiling. “Please don’t make me hurt you!”

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The voice is female and Sam tucks the butt of his shotgun into his shoulder just in case. He only has one round left, and while he doesn’t want to fire on them, the rock salt won’t kill them if he has to use self-defense. “I heard there was a ghost, and I take care of things like that.”

 

“There are no ghosts here,” she replies.

 

“Yeah? You want to show yourself?” Sam asks.

 

“How do I know you aren’t here to hurt me?” she demands. “How do I know you’re not from the government?”

 

“Do I look like I’m from the government?” Sam asks incredulously. Even though his instincts are screaming at him, he lowers his weapon.

 

“You could be from one of those vigilante groups,” she says.

 

Sam lowers the shotgun completely. “My brother is like you. He can blow things up with his brain.”

 

“Useful skill,” she says, stepping out of the shadows. She’s younger than him by about ten years, maybe in her early twenties, with multi-colored dreadlocks and light brown skin. She has multiple piercings in her ears and a nose ring, and she’s wearing clothes that probably could stand a wash. “Where’s your brother? Did the government get him yet?”

 

“Since he’s an Avenger, no,” Sam replies. “My name is Sam Winchester.”

 

“So, you’re saying Dean Winchester is your brother,” she replies skeptically.

 

“I’ve got proof.”

 

“Let’s see it.”

 

Sam shows her the same picture he’d shown Karla.

 

“Huh,” she says. “Okay, I’ll grant that you know him.”

 

Sam figures that’s probably as much as he’s going to get out of her. “I’ve got a few pictures of us as kids together, too.”

 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she replies. “So, you’re really here because you thought I was a ghost?”

 

“That’s what I do,” Sam says. “Do you need some help?”

 

“Do I look like a fucking need any help?” she snaps. “I took care of you, didn’t I?”

 

Sam shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I just thought I’d offer.”

 

A floodlight hits the warehouse, and she swears. “Shit. Did you bring them here?”

 

“I’m a solo operation,” Sam replies. “Is there another way out of here?”

 

She nods. “Yeah.”

 

Sam reaches into his pocket and tosses her the key to his motel room, attached to a key ring with the motel logo. “You’ll be safe there.”

 

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

 

“I’m going to hold them off,” Sam replies. “I’ll keep them occupied while you escape.”

 

“And if they arrest you?” she asks.

 

Sam shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

She shoots him a fleeting grin and shrugs. “Good luck, I guess.”

 

“Thanks,” Sam replies, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

 

She offers a jaunty wave over her shoulder, and Sam realizes he doesn’t even know her name. She could steal everything in his room, and he’d have no way of tracking her down.

 

“This might be one of the dumbest things you’ve done yet,” Sam mutters to himself. “Which is saying something.”

 

He finds a hiding place in a dark corner and quickly reloads the shotgun. He’s tempted to use real shot, but he doesn’t want to get arrested for killing a government agent, and he has no idea who these people are, or what agency they’re with.

 

Sam hears boots on the ground, quiet scuffling sounds, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

 

Hunters avoid law enforcement as a general rule, and Sam isn’t sure how to act around these commandos without getting shot himself.

 

He hears a commotion, and gunfire, and Sam peers out. He sees two distinct groups that appear to be fighting each other, and Sam is no idiot, whatever his earlier actions might suggest. He takes the out offered, skirting the edge of the warehouse.

 

One of the combatants sees him, and he can see her mouth open like she wants to call out, and then she shakes her head and waves him out.

 

Sam has to wonder what side she’s on, and what’s going on, but he isn’t going to stop to ask. He finds a window and climbs through, making a beeline for his car and driving straight back to the motel.

 

He’s not sure what to expect when he tries the door to his room, but it’s unlocked, and he hears the shower running. His laptop and other things are exactly where Sam left them.

 

 _I guess I got away with it_ , Sam thinks. He’s grateful for it, considering that one wrong step as a hunter could get a person killed. Sam puts his weapons in his duffel bag and then kicks it under the bed, grabbing his laptop. He has alerts set up for the Avengers, and he checks them every night, wanting to know if something has happened to Dean.

 

If he can’t talk to his brother, he can stalk him online.

 

There are a couple of news stories about people with special abilities, but nothing specific to Dean or the Avengers. Sam drums his fingers on the desk. He tried emailing but got nowhere, so he’s given up on that medium for a while.

 

Sam thinks back on how he responded to Dean when he’d been on leave, how he pushed Dean away, until years of hard feelings and resentment festered between them. And they haven’t been talking for so long that they’ve truly rebuilt a relationship. It’s possible that there’s been so much hurt between them that Dean will decide it’s not worth the trouble.

 

The shower stops running, and Sam glances up when the woman emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing different clothing that looks a little cleaner, and her face is scrubbed free of makeup.

 

“Thanks for the shower,” she says.

 

Sam shrugs. “It’s not like I had a choice.”

 

“Sure you did. You could have let them capture me,” she replies.

 

“They wouldn’t have,” Sam says. “Another group showed up and let me get away. Pretty sure they’d have let you go, too.”

 

“Maybe.” She gives him a considering look. “I think it’s only fair to tell you that I rifled through your things, and I saw your photos. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s him as a kid. You could probably make a mint off those, you know. He’s very mysterious.”

 

“I don’t want to make any money off them,” he says. “That’s my brother.”

 

“Since you were so nice and I went through your things, my name is Mel,” she says.

 

“Nice to meet you, Mel,” Sam replies. “Have you had your powers long?”

 

She shrugs and perches on the end of one bed. “Couple of months. Long enough to figure out there are people hunting those like me.”

 

“Government agents?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I didn’t stop to ask for ID. I had a hard time controlling it at first and I lost my job. Things just went downhill from there.”

 

Sam grimaces. “Yeah. That sucks.”

 

“It is what it is,” Mel replies. “I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t exactly have the Avengers on speed dial. I know I would.”

 

“My brother and I aren’t on great terms right now,” Sam admits. “I said some things I really regret the last time I saw him.”

 

Mel raises an eyebrow. “Did you apologize?”

 

“Not well enough,” Sam admits. “And now he doesn’t want to hear it.”

 

The silence that follows is strangely comfortable, and Sam finally says, “Do you want a ride somewhere? I mean, they seem to know where you’re staying now, so maybe it would be better if you were elsewhere.”

 

She takes a deep breath. “I have a friend in Chicago, if you’re going that way. She invited me to stay when all this started going down, but I didn’t even have the money for a bus ticket.”

 

“I can get you there,” Sam replies, and thinks it might make up for what he’s said and done in some small way.

 

**Killeen, Texas, January 1997**

 

Sam slips into the long stay motel room where Dad stashed him three weeks ago and wonders if he’ll see him this week. He stopped in last week with some cash and rent for another two weeks, so maybe Sam will finish out the month of January in the same town.

 

Maybe.

 

He checks the lock box and figures he has enough money for a burger at the diner down the street. The waitress, Kim, has a soft spot for him and will slip him a piece of pie on the sly when she can.

 

Sam rubs his eyes and suddenly can’t stand to be in the motel room one more moment. He figures he can order a soda or two and do his homework until dinner. He’s falling behind in school because they’re moving so much, but Sam is fighting tooth and nail to keep up.

 

Kim is working the counter when Sam enters the diner, so that’s where he sits. “You got homework today, Sammy?” she asks.

 

“English and math,” he replies. “And a history test on Monday.”

 

“A test on Monday?” Kim asks. “That seems rude.”

 

Sam laughs. “Yeah, but I guess he thinks that gives us the weekend to study.”

 

He’s not sure that he will study, because there’s a decent chance that his dad will appear and whisk them off somewhere else.

 

That’s a big part of the problem, in Sam’s mind. He has a hard time planning even a few days ahead, since he doesn’t know whether it will do him any good.

 

“You want your usual, hon?” Kim asks.

 

“Yes, please,” Sam replies.

 

She smiles at him. “Such nice manners.”

 

Sam works on his homework because there’s a chance he will be here on Monday, and there’s nothing better to do. He doesn’t want to go back to the motel room, and it’s not like he has enough money to do anything fun. His dad has impressed upon him the need to conserve their resources.

 

He drinks a diet soda, then a second, and he orders a BLT with fries.

 

“You seem a little down today, sweetie,” Kim says when she stops by with a top-up. “Is everything okay?”

 

Sam shrugs. “Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s my brother’s birthday today.”

 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Kim says. “Older or younger?”

 

“Older,” Sam replies. “He, um, got into some trouble, and we lost touch, but he—he’s 18 today.”

 

Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Sam. That must be hard. It sounds like you love him very much.”

 

Sam looks away. “Yeah. I guess. He was a good guy.”

 

She pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll bet he still is. You want a piece of pie? It’s on the house, in honor of your brother’s birthday.”

 

“He loved pie,” Sam says.

 

“Apple or cherry?” Kim asks.

 

“Cherry,” Sam replies.

 

When she slides the pie in front of him, there’s a lit birthday candle in the middle of the slice, and Sam glances up. “You remember his birthday for him, hon,” Kim says. “You hold that memory of him tight. That way, he’ll always be close to you.”

 

Sam blows out the candle and does as she suggests; he holds Dean’s memory tight.

 

It’s too bad that he forgets that lesson later.

 

**Des Moines, Iowa, to Chicago, Illinois, Summer 2015**

 

They don’t stay at the motel that night. Mel is clearly uncomfortable with the idea, and Sam doesn’t want to give the government a chance to track them down either. He offers to go back for her things, but she shakes her head. “I grabbed my bag. Anything else, I can leave behind. I don’t want to take the risk.”

 

Sam points the Impala towards Chicago while Mel wedges herself against the passenger door. “Look, don’t be offended if I don’t talk to you, okay?” Mel says. “I’m fucking exhausted, and you seem like a decent guy, and you know I can break your arm, so I figure you won’t cop a feel.”

 

“No, that’s fine,” Sam says. “It’s probably been a while since you had a decent night’s sleep, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Mel admits. “A couple of months at least. Thanks.”

 

The drive to Chicago is only about five hours, and Mel sleeps for the majority of that time. Sam really doesn’t mind; aside from brief interactions with victims, he doesn’t get the chance to take care of people all that often. And Mel has an intriguing mixture of strength and vulnerability that he finds very attractive.

 

Not that he’s going to do anything about it. Mel is giving off clear “don’t fuck with me” vibes, and Sam has never been one to cross that line.

 

Traffic is relatively light when they hit Chicago, and Sam clears his throat loudly to wake her up, not wanting to startle her but needing directions.

 

Mel takes a deep breath as she wakes, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. “Where are we?”

 

“We’re just hitting the city,” Sam replies. “I need directions.”

 

“Oh, right,” Mel replies. “Yeah, she’s on the south side. Hold on, I need to call her.”

 

“I have to get gas anyway,” Sam replies, pulling off when he sees the service station. “Do you want anything? Coffee or something to eat?”

 

“You don’t have to,” Mel replies. “You’ve already done me two huge favors.”

 

Sam shrugs. “I’m getting coffee, and maybe a sandwich. I’d feel weird eating and drinking in front of you, so you’d be doing me a favor.”

 

Mel snorts. “Thanks, but I don’t see it that way. That being said, yeah, I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”

 

Sam leaves her in the car while he pumps gas and grabs a couple of cups of coffee and a couple of breakfast sandwiches at the attached McDonald’s. Mel is off the phone when he gets back, and she offers a quiet thanks when he hands her the second cup and sandwich.

 

“I can direct you as we go,” she says as Sam pulls out onto the service road. “You know, you never told me why you were in the warehouse hunting for a ghost. Are you just really into that sort of thing?”

 

Sam hesitates. “You probably won’t believe me.”

 

“I didn’t believe in telekinesis until recently,” Mel replies. “Try me.”

 

“My mom was killed by something when I was a baby,” Sam says. “My dad went hunting for the thing that killed her, and he found a lot of monsters along the way.”

 

“Monsters, huh?”

 

He hears the tightness in her voice, and Sam says, “Things that go bump in the night. Vampires, demons, werewolves, wendigos, ghosts—the things that would sooner kill you or eat you as look at you. Actual monsters.”

 

Mel hesitates. “I was about to ask if you were shitting me, but you did tell me I wouldn’t believe you. I guess that’s why you didn’t freak out about the telekinesis.”

 

“I’ve seen weirder,” Sam admits.

 

“And that’s what you do? Crisscross the country hunting ghosts and monsters?” Mel asks.

 

“That’s what I do,” Sam replies.

 

“Take this next exit,” she directs. “Then take a right.”

 

Sam follows the directions. “People who have special abilities—they’re not monsters. You’re not a monster. I never thought you were.”

 

“That’s not what you and your brother fought about?” Mel asks.

 

Sam winces.

 

“Sorry, that was probably asking for too much.”

 

“No, it’s—Dean got arrested when I was twelve. He stole food because I whined about being hungry,” Sam replies, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “So, he gets put into foster care, Dad leaves him there because he didn’t want to lose me too, and Dean joins the Army. We don’t talk for years, and we were finally getting to a good place. And then I had to open my big mouth and tell Dean he didn’t appreciate what he had.”

 

“Ouch,” Mel comments.

 

Sam laughs, the sound holding little humor. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“I have a sister,” Mel says after a moment. “She was practically perfect in every way, and not a day went by that my parents didn’t throw that in my face. One day, we had it out, and it turned out she had an eating disorder, among other problems. She let me have it, too.”

 

“Did she ever forgive you?” Sam asks.

 

Mel shakes her head. “No.”

 

She doesn’t say more than that, and something tells Sam not to press the issue. There are a lot of people out there walking wounded, and he’s not so special.

 

They drive in silence, except for the occasional direction from Mel, and Sam eventually pulls up in front of an old apartment building.

 

“Hand me your phone?” Sam asks.

 

Mel raises an eyebrow but hands over the old flip phone she used earlier, and Sam quickly programs in his number. “If you need anything—fake ID, another ride, whatever—call me. Or if you hear about someone else with special abilities who needs something like that. If I can help, I will.”

 

“And you’re not asking for my number?” Mel asks.

 

“You didn’t offer it,” Sam replies.

 

Mel nods. “Good answer. Thanks for the ride—and for not being a creeper.”

 

Sam smiles. “My pleasure.”

 

She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re a good dude, Sam Winchester.”

 

Sam waits until she’s inside the building before he pulls out, and thinks he’s at least done something right.

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Summer 2002**

 

Sam gets the call while he’s working at the local grocery store, so he doesn’t have his phone on him when his dad calls. Sam doesn’t even get the message until hours after his shift, because the cute cashier at the register next to his gets off at the same time and there’s a movie theater nearby, so they go to a movie and then for dinner after.

 

He doesn’t get back to Bobby’s until well after midnight, not that Bobby cares. As long as Sam isn’t bringing the law down on them, Bobby gives Sam his freedom, now that he’s graduated from high school.

 

And then, to Sam’s regret, he goes to bed without looking at his phone. Since he has a late shift the next day, he sleeps in. It’s nearly 2 in the afternoon before he listens to the message.

 

John’s message is short. “Hey, Sammy. I want you to know that I love you, and if you see your brother, you tell him that I love him, too. I’m going to take out the thing that killed Mary, and I might not survive it. You be good, and Bobby will take care of you. And don’t blame Dean, Sam. That was all on me. He’s going to need your support when he gets back, and you should give it to him.”

 

That’s it, and when Sam hears the message, he knows that time is of the essence. He immediately tracks Bobby down in the salvage yard, where he’s working on someone’s minivan.

 

“Bobby,” Sam says, his voice faltering. He can’t say the words, so he holds out the phone. “Dad left a voicemail.”

 

Bobby listens to the message and his expression grows grave. “We need to find him. Do you want to do this with me?”

 

“Yeah, I’m on board,” Sam says. He’ll probably end up losing his job, but his dad is worth it. He might not always _like_ his dad, but he still loves him.

 

Bobby demonstrates his prowess as a hunter by working his contacts and tracing the last call John made, since he still pays for Sam’s cell phone. They can’t pinpoint where John is, but they can get a general location based on the towers his phone pinged. Sam calls Pastor Joe and a few others his dad might have told about what he’s doing, but no one knows anything.

 

In the end, the best they can do is head for the last place they know John Winchester had been and start asking around. Their jobs are made easier by the fact that he’d last been in a relatively rural area of Nebraska where there aren’t that many places to stay.

 

There are eight motels in the area, and they hit pay dirt on the fifth, where the clerk at the check-in counter recognizes a picture of John Winchester. “Oh, yeah,” the woman says. “He paid for a week. That was three-four days ago.”

 

“Which room?” Sam asks. “I’m his son, and he left me a message that worried me.”

 

The clerk hesitates until Bobby slips her a twenty. “Number 11, but I haven’t seen him or his car for at least two days.”

 

“Do you know where he was going?” Sam asks.

 

The clerk shakes her head. “No, sorry. Although I heard he was frequenting the bar.”

 

“Which one?” Bobby asks.

 

She shrugs. “There’s just the one on your way out of town on Highway 2, heading west. Pete’s Place, you can’t miss it.”  


“Thanks,” Sam says.

 

It’s the middle of the day, so Sam doesn’t expect the bar to be open. There are a couple of cars parked out front, though, and the neon sign says “Open.”

 

Bobby stops Sam before he can enter, pointing at the sign that says, “No one under the age of 21.”

 

“Come on, Bobby,” Sam protests.

 

“I’m probably going to have to buy a beer,” Bobby replies. “And I don’t want to piss anybody off before we get answers. Wait out here.”

 

Sam sighs but does as he’s told. Bobby has a point, and time is of the essence. They can’t afford to waste time arguing about whether Sam is allowed inside the bar.

 

He leans against Bobby’s old truck and plays on his phone until Bobby emerges about half an hour later. “John was asking around about a man who had been seen in the area. The bartender thought he was staying at an old farmhouse outside of town, and that’s what he told your dad a couple of days ago.”

 

Sam nods. “Did you get directions?”

 

“It’s about fifteen minutes away,” Bobby confirms.

 

The farmhouse is isolated, in the middle of nowhere, and appears rundown. What little grass there is out front is overgrown, and the paint on the siding is peeling. The main thing of interest is his dad’s Impala parked out front.

 

He and Bobby go in armed, but there’s a part of Sam that knows what they’re going to find. There’s a part of him that’s known since hearing his dad’s message.

 

His dad’s body is half-in, half-out of the kitchen, an unfamiliar gun in his hand. The second body is sprawled on the kitchen floor, near the door leading out to the backyard. There’s a bullet hole in the back of the skull, and a blood pool on the floor.

 

Sam swallows hard and kneels next to his dad’s body. There’s a large bloodstain on his dad’s shirt, around the stomach area, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s been stabbed. The body is cold, and there’s a lot of blood, and Sam has seen enough death to figure out that his dad had probably bled to death.

 

If John had called him sooner, or if he’d called Bobby, or another hunter, he might have lived. Someone might have been able to get him to the hospital in time to repair the damage.

 

Or maybe they wouldn’t have, and he’d still be dead, but he wouldn’t have died alone.

 

“We have to salt and burn the bodies,” Sam says, hearing the hollowness in his own voice.

 

“You don’t have to be involved with that, Sammy,” Bobby says gently.

 

Sam shakes his head. “No, it’s my dad. He called me.”

 

“He shouldn’t have,” Bobby snaps. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

 

“Let’s just get it done.” Sam feels numb, and he has no idea how to even process what he’s seeing.

 

It was always going to come to this.

 

He doesn’t let himself think about what they’re doing, or that it’s his dad. When the corpses have burnt, and the fire is out, Sam says, “I’ll drive Dad’s car back.”

 

“It’s your car now,” Bobby replies. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Bobby,” Sam replies. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

Sam finds his dad’s journal in the glove compartment, and he flips through it. The most recent entries reference demonic activity and someone John refers to as “Yellow Eyes.” He also finds an envelope with Dean’s name scrawled on the front, and he shoves that into the back of the journal.

 

He doesn’t want to think about Dean. If Dean hadn’t left, his dad might still be alive. Sam would still have a family.

 

The drive back to Sioux Falls passes in a blur of exhaustion and grief. Sam knows they’ll have to come up with some story about the car, and about John’s disappearance or his death.

 

Sam has to pull over halfway to Sioux Falls, and he sleeps in the car on the side of the road, not wanting to get a motel room. Besides, the Impala is familiar, and he needs the comfort right now.

 

When he does make it back to Bobby’s, he finds Bobby waiting for him, nursing a beer in the kitchen. “I called your brother’s command. He’s on maneuvers in Afghanistan, and there’s no way to get in touch with him. I’ve left a message.”

 

Sam feels a spike of anger. “What’s the point? It’s not like he’s going to come back. It’s not like he cares about me.”

 

“You’re not giving your brother enough credit,” Bobby says, although with little heat. He sounds tired more than anything else.

 

“Yeah, well, he’s not here,” Sam says. “Is he? He left, and then he decided not to come back. He could have stayed with you, he could have tried to meet up with us again, and he didn’t. Maybe it would be better if he just stayed gone. I don’t need him anyway.”

 

He says the words, and he means them—but he doesn’t. There’s a part of him that’s written Dean off, but another part that keeps hoping Dean will come home.

 

Dean writes him a letter in October, and Sam barely skims it. The upshot is that Dean’s not coming back, and Sam doesn’t need to know more than that. The reasons don’t matter.

 

He doesn’t care if Dean is sorry; he only cares that Dean doesn’t want to put their family first.

 

And over the next year, as months go by and Dean doesn’t come home, Sam’s anger and resentment eats him up until he can’t feel anything else.

 

**Everywhere, USA, Summer 2015 through January 2016**

 

Sam is working on a case in Reno involving a vampire nest, doing some research in the county assessor’s office, when his phone rings. Sam doesn’t recognize the number, but he often gets calls like that. Hunters frequently change phones or use burners, and Sam gives out his number to victims and others who might need his help in the future without adding them to his contact list.

 

Of all the people who might call him, he’s not expecting to hear Mel’s voice after he says, “Winchester.”

 

“Sam, it’s Mel. I don’t know if you remember—”

 

“Of course I do,” Sam says immediately. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” she replies. “But I know someone who needs your help.”

 

Sam blinks. “Okay, shoot.”

 

“I don’t know if you’re anywhere near the area, but one of us is in trouble in Portland, Oregon,” Mel says. “He needs new identification, and some help relocating.”

 

“Give me the address, along with the name and how I can reach him.” Sam grabs his pen. “I can get him new ID. Just let me know where to deliver him.”

 

“It’s better for me not to know,” Mel replies. “He’ll tell you when you see him. Thanks, Sam.”

 

“No problem,” Sam replies. “I told you to call me, and I meant it.”

 

She gives him the information, and Sam calls that number next. “Juke,” says the voice on the other end.

 

“This is Sam Winchester. Mel called me.”

 

There’s a sigh. “You can get me out? Things are getting pretty hot here, and I think they know about me.”

 

“I’m on a job, but I should be able to be on the road tomorrow afternoon,” Sam says. “I can get you clean ID, and take you somewhere safe. Can you lie low for now?”

 

“Yeah, man, sure,” Juke says. “At least, I think so.”

 

“Do you have any money?”

 

“Some.”

 

“You find a motel, a cheap one,” Sam says. “When you check in, pay cash, and if they ask for ID, say you’ve lost yours. Give them a false name. The right motel won’t ask any questions.”

 

“Got it,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

 

“Call me and let me know where you are,” Sam orders. “I’ll come to you.”

 

“Is it true? What Mel said about your brother being one of us?” Juke asks. “She said we could trust you.”

 

Sam hesitates. “It’s true, and you can trust me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

Sam moves quickly after that to clear up the vampire’s nest, and then immediately heads up to Portland. Juke is in his early twenties and clearly freaked out. “Thanks for doing this.”

 

“No problem,” Sam replies. “I’ll get you set up with new ID. Where are you headed?”

 

“I have a cousin in Dallas, if that’s okay,” Juke replies. “She says she’ll help.”

 

Sam nods. “All right. We’ll get you sorted.”

 

Sam has been making fake IDs since he was a teenager, and he has a few spares on hand. He gets a picture of Juke, switches that photo with the photo on one of the licenses, and then they head out.

 

Juke rambles nervously for the first 100 miles, and then he passes out. They have to stop so Sam can catch a few hours of sleep himself as they’re passing through Utah, but Sam drops him off at his cousin’s place on the outskirts of Dallas.

 

A few weeks later, he gets another call, not from Mel or Juke, but from someone who knows Mel and got his name from her. She needs to get from Oklahoma City to Chicago, wanting to join Mel in whatever situation she’s in now.

 

Sam is in Sioux Falls when the call comes in, so he drives down to pick her up. She’s barely 18, wearing oversized clothing and half her head shaved. He offers her his hand to shake, but she shakes her head. “I can read your mind if I’m touching you.”

 

She looks scared to death, and Sam keeps holding out a hand. “It’s okay. Maybe you’ll feel safer if you touch me then.”

 

She shakes his hand briefly, and some of the tension leaves her face. “I’m Becca.”

 

“Sam,” he replies. “But you probably already know that. So, Chicago?”

 

“Mel invited me to stay with them,” she replies. “I couldn’t stay with my parents.”

 

Sam nods. “No problem. I’ll get you to Chicago.”

 

“Mel said why you did this,” she says.

 

“I want to keep him out of it as much as I can,” Sam replies. “I don’t want someone to use me against him.”

 

Becca nods. “We don’t really use names, you know. And we wouldn’t want to put you in danger.”

 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Sam replies. “I just don’t want anything to happen to my brother.”

 

“We don’t want anything to happen to him either,” Becca replies.

 

Sam hesitates. “So, can I ask you something?”

 

“You can ask,” she replies.

 

“Why me?” Sam asks. “You’re the second person who’s contacted me.”

 

“Because your brother is an Avenger, and you’re pretty much off the grid,” Becca replies. “And Mel vouches for you, and you travel a lot. You’re a pretty safe bet.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Sam replies. “Look, if you want to sleep or something, you can. Or we can talk. Whatever you want.”

 

“You don’t mind if I sleep?” she asks. “I feel like it’s been days.”

 

Sam shrugs. “I’m kind of getting used to it.”

 

Becca laughs. “Thanks.”

 

Sam doesn’t mind if she sleeps, because he’s not really up to making small talk. He’s thinking about Dean, and what Dean would think about Sam fitting in a powered-person taxi service between hunts. Sam likes to think Dean would be proud of him, but maybe not. Maybe he’d think Sam is sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

 

Mel is still staying with her friend, because Sam ends up at the same apartment building where he’d dropped her off a couple months back. He’s actually a little surprised when she comes out to meet them with another woman, who immediately puts an arm around Becca’s shoulders.

 

“Come on up, sweetie,” the woman says with a brief smile for Sam. “You must be exhausted.”

 

“’bye, Sam,” Becca calls. “Thanks again.”

 

“My pleasure,” he replies. “Hey, Mel.”

 

“Hey, Sam,” she replies, giving him a quick, hard hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for that. She’s a sweet kid with a bad home situation.”

 

“How is your situation?” Sam asks. “You okay? You’re safe?”

 

Mel hesitates. “My girlfriend is taking good care of me.”

 

Sam absorbs that information and hitches a shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it.”

 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Mel asks. “It didn’t seem like you would, not after how you helped me, and Juke.”

 

“No, I don’t mind,” Sam replies. “I mean, I don’t mind helping, but I don’t really want it getting out that my brother is an Avenger.”

 

Mel shakes her head. “It’s a little late for that. The name Winchester isn’t exactly common, and the Avengers are all over the news. A new Avenger is even bigger news.”

 

“Yeah, I know, it’s just—I don’t want anybody using me against him,” Sam replies.

 

“We’re not free with your name,” Mel says. “We have to be careful, too.”

 

Sam nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

 

“Be safe.”

 

“You too,” he replies. “And I don’t mind helping.”

 

Mel nods. “You’re good people, Sam. I’ll see you around.”

 

Sam doesn’t have a line on another job, so he heads back to Sioux Falls, which has been home base since John dropped him off for a few months when he was fourteen or so. He knows he’s always welcome at Bobby’s, and he could use a friendly face. So, he drops his things off at his apartment and heads for Singer’s Salvage.

 

He finds Bobby doing research at home, and Sam pokes his head in to the study. “Hey.”

 

“Hey yourself,” Bobby replies. “No job?”

 

“Just finished one,” Sam says. “Haven’t found another. How about you?”

 

“Doing some research for a friend,” Bobby replies. “What’s this job you were on?”

 

Sam shrugs. “Remember that girl I told you about? The one I thought was the ghost in Des Moines?”

 

Bobby frowns. “Tell me you aren’t getting involved in that shit.”

 

Sam shifts uncomfortably. “A couple of people needed my help. It’s no big deal, Bobby.”

 

“There’s a group going around capturing those folks, and it’s sponsored by the government, Sam,” Bobby points out. “You’re better off keeping your nose out of things.”

 

Sam slumps on the couch. “Come on, Bobby. These people need my help just as much as the folks being eaten by vampires or haunted by vengeful spirits. Most of them just want to be left alone.”

 

“So, leave it alone,” Bobby says impatiently. “Your brother wouldn’t want you involved.”

 

“My brother isn’t really talking to me right now,” Sam says. “So, I wouldn’t know.”

 

Bobby drums his fingers on the desk.

 

Sam gets a sudden hunch. “Have you seen him?”

 

“Drove out there myself awhile back,” Bobby finally admits. “After what you told me, I wanted to see him for myself.”

 

Sam takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, did he say anything about me? Did he ask about me?”

 

“He asked if you were okay, and if I’d seen you recently,” Bobby admits. “I said you were fine, although I didn’t know you were chasing people with special powers.”

 

“I am fine,” Sam replies. “And it’s not a big deal, Bobby.”

 

“It’s a big deal if you bring the wrong kind of attention to yourself,” Bobby grumbles. “And you need to give Dean some time.”

 

Sam sighs. “I know. I remember he gave me time. All those years when I was pissed off at him, and I refused to talk to him, and he just—he gave me space.”

 

Bobby nods. “Be careful, Sam. I understand why you’re doing this, but drawing the wrong kind of attention to yourself is stupid.”

 

“I get it, Bobby,” Sam replies. “I do. But I can’t not help when asked. I mean, what if it were Dean?”

 

Bobby glances up, probably in a prayer for self-control, and he says, “Just use some caution. You get in trouble with the law, I might be able to get you out of it. You run afoul of some top secret agency, and no one will find you again.”

 

“I will,” Sam promises. “I’ll be careful.”

 

And he is careful. He focuses on his usual supernatural cases, but he still takes on a couple of cases involving people with special powers. As he told Bobby, he couldn’t deny his help when asked for it, and he can’t help but think of Dean when asked.

 

Sam also does some research when he can, getting books on the war in Afghanistan, reading memoirs of soldiers who were there, getting a better idea of what Dean might have experienced.

 

Dean had been in Afghanistan when their dad was killed, during the early, bloody days of the war, and Sam realizes that he can’t quite imagine the hardships Dean faced.

 

Sam begins to understand Dean’s anger better, and lets go a little of his own.

 

It’s late October when Sam gets another request for help, this time asking for a meeting. The message comes through an email account he set up for just this purpose that he’s passed along to Mel and some of his other contacts.

 

The meeting is at a coffee shop in Sioux City, Iowa, fulfilling Sam’s requirement of it being at a public location. The woman who contacts him says she’ll be in jeans and a flannel shirt, with a copy of Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_.

 

Sam spots her immediately when he enters. She’s about his age, maybe a little younger, and pretty. She’s also the same agent from the warehouse in Des Moines. Her face is burned in Sam’s memory, and he immediately turns to leave.

 

When he does so, he can see a tall, black guy by the door giving him the eye, and a statuesque blonde doing the same. Sam realizes that he’s trapped, neatly, and he stepped right into it. So much for being safe.

 

He’s not comfortable shooting his way out, so he opts for joining the woman at her table.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks.

 

Sam glances at the two people by the door. “I think I’ll pass. I’m more interested in what you want from me.”

 

“I wanted to get an idea of who you are,” she replies. “You’ve been filling in some of our gaps remarkably well.”

 

Sam leans back. “Okay. You know, I don’t even know your name, or what agency you work for.”

 

“My name is Daisy Johnson,” she replies. “But I was going by Skye until fairly recently.”

 

She says it like the name should mean something, but it doesn’t. “Okay?”

 

“I know your brother,” Daisy says. “Dean, right?”

 

Sam goes still. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I know your brother?” Daisy asks. “When you’ve got a Winchester who’s an Avenger, and you’ve got another helping random Inhumans, you start asking questions. So far, you’ve been helping those with pretty minor gifts.”

 

“They don’t look at it that way.”

 

“No one ever does,” Daisy replies. “But I figured I should look you up, maybe give you the lay of the land. If Dean doesn’t know what you’re doing, I figured I owed you that much anyway.”

 

“Why would you think he doesn’t know?” Sam asks.

 

“Because I’ve met him, and I know how complicated family can get,” Daisy replies. “There’s no judgment here.”

 

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it go, accepting—at least for the moment—that Daisy means well. “Okay. I’m assuming you can’t actually help me.”

 

“Politics,” she replies. “But what you’re doing, helping those with smaller gifts who should probably stay out of government hands? That’s better than we can do, and it’s something no one else is doing.”

 

“Then tell me what I need to know,” Sam replies.

 

Daisy leans forward. “Have you heard of the Alien Threat Containment Unit?”

 

Sam winces. “Yeah, I have. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been willing to help out.”

 

She nods. “Good. You really have kept a low profile, but the ATCU doesn’t seem to care what a person’s gifts are, just that they have them.”

 

Sam snorts. “It’s not a one-size-fits-all sort of world.”

 

“You know that, and so do I, but they don’t,” Daisy says. “I’d say keep doing what you’re doing, but be careful. There’s another group that calls themselves the Watchdogs who are targeting Inhumans, too. They’re vigilantes.”

 

“I’ve heard of them, too,” Sam replies. “Look, no offense, but you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know, and asking me here probably put me at risk.”

 

Daisy laughs. “You’re not wrong. But—well, this is kind of what I do, and I wanted to meet you in person. I need to know why you’re doing this.”

 

Sam takes a deep breath, wondering how honest he really wants to be, and he finally says, “Because there’s nothing I can do to help my brother.”

 

She nods. “Okay, well, be careful. I’ll give you my number, and if you run into a situation you can’t handle, call me.”

 

Once Sam has programmed her number into his phone, he has to ask, “When was the last time you saw Dean?”

 

“A couple of months back,” Daisy replies. “Our paths crossed, and we—well, I guess we came to an understanding. I was pretty jealous of him when we first met.”

 

Sam swallows. “Yeah, I get that.”

 

Daisy’s smile is a little crooked. “Yeah, well, he was pretty good about it, to be honest. And we kind of bonded over the whole Inhuman thing and—” She stops, and Sam wonders what was supposed to come next, and if it has something to do with complicated family situations, and what she and Dean talked about.

 

He doesn’t ask, because it might put her in an awkward position, and as time goes on, Sam wants to know for himself. He doesn’t want to get news secondhand, or put those who know them both into the middle of their relationship. He wants Dean to _want_ to talk to him.

 

“If I see him again, I’ll let him know we crossed paths,” Daisy says, getting to her feet. “And it was nice to meet you.”

 

“Yeah, same here,” Sam replies. “And if you need someone who operates off the grid in a legal gray area, I’m happy to help out.”

 

Daisy nods, her expression impossible to read, and then she shakes his hand, and the SHIELD agents disappear one by one. Sam gets a cup of coffee and sits there a long time, deep in thought.

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Spring 2013**

 

Sam happens to be in Sioux Falls, the day his carefully constructed narrative begins to fall apart. Before Dean left, Sam had said, “My mom died when I was a baby. It’s just me, my brother, and my dad now.”

 

His dad always came last, because Dean was the most important person in Sam’s world.

 

Then, Dean left, and Sam had said, “It’s just me and my dad,” but what he really meant was it was just him. If he’d known anybody well enough to offer the whole story, he might have said, “My brother got into some trouble, and he left and never cared enough to come back.”

 

By the time Sam is 29, these are the things he knows to be true: his mom died, his brother got into trouble and left and never came back, not for anything. His dad didn’t care enough to live, to stick around for Sam. The only family Sam has is Uncle Bobby, and a few other hunters, but he’s always felt like second-hand clothing with them, left behind by his dad when other priorities loomed.

 

Dean was the only one who made Sam a priority—until he didn’t.

 

That anger sits in Sam’s gut, hardening over the years into a burning resentment, in spite of Bobby’s hints that Dean’s job is dangerous, that he’s doing important work, that he’s fighting a war of his own.

 

A hunter’s world is isolated, separated from the national news, confined to three-paragraph stories in regional newspapers and blogs and the occasional conspiracy theory message board. Sam doesn’t really pay much attention to the war in Afghanistan or in Iraq, or to superheroes and rich guys in suits of armor, or defrosted World War II soldiers.

 

He’s at his part-time job at the bar when the news story catches his eye. The volume is low, the closed captions on, since business is slow. Later, most of the TVs will be tuned to a sports channel or something else the patrons want to watch, but at 6, it’s just the major networks.

 

And then something—a familiar profile, maybe—catches his eye, and he sees Tony Stark hit the deck, and he sees a man move quickly to cover a startled, rumpled-looking man, and red bloom across his shoulder before the shaky camera catches the Hulk’s transformation and stops recording.

 

The anchor is saying something that Sam doesn’t catch because he’s not reading the closed captions—he’s looking at the photo of a man the government agency providing security released, and it’s Dean.

 

Dean, looking solemn in a suit, with lines around his eyes and mouth Sam hasn’t seen before, and a faint scar along the left side of his jaw. Dean, who is apparently playing bodyguard for Tony Stark.

 

Dean, who took a bullet, and now Sam zeroes in on the words and sees that he’s in serious condition, and they’re not sure of his status, but they’ll keep updating as to his progress.

 

And then they replay the footage of Dean getting shot every fifteen minutes, it feels like, until Sam feels sick. His anger is dissolving under the realization that Dean could have died today—might yet die—and Sam might never have known.

 

He hasn’t talked to Dean in ten years, not since Dean came home after their dad’s funeral, and Sam punched him in the face and called him a coward. Watching Dean die—or maybe die, or nearly die—over and over again makes him rethink a few things. Makes him want to ask the questions he’s throttled since Dean didn’t come back to the motel that night, since John insisted they get rid of everything tying them to Dean.

 

When he sees Bobby the next day, Sam looks him in the eye and asks, “Do you know how to get in touch with Dean?”

 

Bobby snorts. “It’s about time, boy. I’ll give him a call. He may not be up to answering.”

 

Sam waits as Bobby makes the call, and Bobby is fairly abrupt when he hands the phone to Sam with a look that clearly warns him to behave.

 

“You okay?” he manages to ask, forcing the words past a decade of questions he never bothered to ask, and just now realizes he should have.

 

_Why did you leave? What happened? Why didn’t you come back? Why did you stay away? Why, why, why?_

 

“I’ve had worse,” Dean says, and his tone of voice says that he’s being honest, that he doesn’t think getting shot on national television is a big deal.

 

He lets out a strangled sound because he should probably know this. He should know how many times his brother has been shot. “I saw the news footage.”

 

“It probably looked worse than it is,” Dean says. “I got lucky. It didn’t hit any vital organs, and it didn’t crack any bones.”

 

Sam struggles to come up with something to say in response. He has no idea how to bridge the gap caused by ten years of silence. “That’s good. You—they said you were with Tony Stark.”

 

There’s a long pause. “Yeah, it was a job.”

 

Sam hears the echo of his dad’s words all those times he left Sam behind in a motel room by himself, or when he’d been left behind at Uncle Bobby’s.

 

“Protecting the richest man in the country, huh?” Sam asks, bitterness coating his words.

 

“His buddy, actually,” Dean replies, and Sam remembers how much of a smartass his brother had been. “Stark was smart enough to duck.”

 

“Right, okay,” Sam mutters. “I hope you feel better.”

 

He doesn’t know what else to say, and so he gets off the phone. He doesn’t want to ruin things before they’ve even gotten started. Sam doesn’t know how to talk to Dean anymore, so he ends the conversation.

 

But he resolves to actually talk to Dean when Bobby tells him he’s coming back to Sioux Falls for part of his recovery.

 

He’s at least going to try.

 

**Sioux Falls, January 2016**

 

Sam still keeps an apartment in Sioux Falls, mostly because it’s nice to have a home base, and he stopped staying with Bobby after that disastrous visit with Dean after his dad’s death.

 

His apartment might be a hole, but it’s his hole, and after months of crisscrossing the country, dealing with supernatural creatures and Inhumans both, he’s ready to not be on the road for a little while.

 

Besides, the weather is crappy, and Sam doesn’t want to risk wrecking the Impala.

 

He toes off his boots and collapses on his sagging, threadbare couch, turning on the TV with a flick of the remote. He’s just got an antenna, but he gets the local channels, and the first thing that pops up is the 10 o’clock news.

 

“…several explosions in Washington, D.C. earlier today. The number of people reported dead has climbed to 11, with at least 61 injured. There are at least three people in critical condition at present. The Avengers were on scene to deal with a threat, and assisted with the clean up. There’s no word yet on what caused the explosions, or whether they were part of a terrorist attack, but we’ll keep you updated as we know more.”

 

From there, the news cuts to footage of the actual bombing, and Sam finds himself on the edge of his seat, hanging on every word, on every frame. His heart is in his throat when there’s shaky footage of Dean in his Avenger’s uniform, blood pouring down the side of his face.

 

It’s not the blood that startles Sam, but the expression on his face, because he looks gutted, hollowed out. There’s a part of him that wonders if maybe he’s reading too much into it, but then Steve comes up to Dean and puts an arm around his shoulders.

 

Sam doesn’t think it’s just Steve being concerned about Dean’s injury, or Captain America looking after one of his teammates. His actions are that of a brother, and he turns Dean away from the camera, and Sam thinks he sees Dean’s shoulders shaking.

 

Steve pushes his cowl back, leaning in close to Dean’s ear, saying something that the camera doesn’t catch.

 

It’s intimate, and then Natasha appears and takes Steve’s place with a quick touch to his shoulder. The footage stops and they go back to a news report, the bare bones of what they know, repeated multiple times, and Sam wants nothing more than to call his brother.

 

But he can’t, and he _knows_ he can’t. Sam last saw that hollow-eyed look on his face when he’d let Dean have it months ago, and he remembers Dean losing control then. He remembers the bottles breaking, and the spike of fear he felt, even if Sam left unscathed.

 

Also, he believes that Natasha really will string him up by his dick if he upsets Dean in any way at all.

 

Sam glances at the clock. It’s nearly 11 o’clock central time, which means it’s midnight in New York. He doesn’t want to upset Dean, but he also needs to know that Dean is okay.

 

He has a phone number for the Tower that Dean gave him after the thing with Hydra, one that Dean told him to call in case of an emergency.

 

Sam takes a deep breath and figures worst-case scenario he’ll get Jarvis, who may or may not give him an update.

 

The phone rings three times, and Sam is readying himself to leave a message when Bruce says, “Banner here.”

 

“Uh, hi, Dr. Banner,” Sam says, sticking with formality. He has no idea how the rest of the Avengers, aside from Natasha, feel about him.

 

There’s a pause, and Bruce says, “Sam Winchester?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam replies awkwardly. “I saw the news.”

 

“Ah.” There’s another pause, and Sam can hear another male voice in the background. “Dean is fine.”

 

Sam doesn’t believe him, but he has no way of disputing that. “Do you—do you think I could talk to him?”

 

The silence that follows is heavier. “Sam,” Bruce begins. “Dean lost control today.”

 

The news hadn’t said anything about that, but it explains the expression on Dean’s face. “I don’t understand.”

 

“You represent a threat to his control,” Bruce says. “You’re a weakness. After what happened, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to have contact. You could easily set him off again.”

 

Sam had felt Natasha’s threat, but Bruce’s careful disappointment is worse. Bruce had been kind to him when he’d stayed at the Tower, and Sam knows he’d been kind to Dean as well. “I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

 

“And Dean might be ready to hear that someday,” Bruce replies firmly. “But that’s not today. I think you need to let him approach you first, when he’s ready.”

 

 _If he’s ever ready_ , Sam thinks but doesn’t say. He wants to ask what made Dean lose control, if there’s anything he can do, if there’s anything he can say to make this right.

 

After so long as his constant companion, Sam’s anger is absent, leaving emptiness in its wake.

 

“Dean’s birthday is next week,” Sam manages to say. “I don’t know if you all knew or if—” He doesn’t know if the Avengers celebrated each other’s birthdays, or if they celebrated Dean’s, or if Dean even cares. They never really did before, although Dean would usually manage to scrounge up some treat for Sam. “You know, if you didn’t know.”

 

“We’re aware,” Bruce replies. “Thanks for calling, Sam. I’ll let Dean know once he’s feeling a little better.”

 

Which might be never, but Sam bids a subdued goodbye and collapses back on his couch. The Avengers have formed a tight circle around Dean, and Sam doesn’t think he’s going to hear from Dean any time soon, because why would he? What reason has he given Dean for contacting him, or believing that Sam won’t get in his face again?

 

What has Sam done to make Dean think that breaking radio silence is even a good idea, or that he won’t cast Dean aside, or throw what he has in his face?

 

Nothing. Sam hasn’t done shit for Dean.

 

He sits on the couch and stares at the silent TV and turns every past event over in his head. Sam remembers Christmas, and the amulet, and motel rooms. He remembers Dean feeding him, making sure he had his homework done, standing as a bulwark between Sam and their dad when Sam deliberately baited him into a fight.

 

Sam remembers waking up to find Dean gone, and the slow erosion of hope that Dean would return, and as he thinks about that, he remembers.

 

Dean went out to get food—to _steal_ food—but he hadn’t taken anything with him, and Sam knows John hadn’t done much more than send Dean some of his clothing. His brother would have had the clothes on his back and the things he kept on his person at all times—like the amulet—but that’s about it.

 

Dean wouldn’t have had their dad’s journal, or the Impala, or even any copies of the few photographs that they had. He wouldn’t have had any pictures of their mom or their dad, or them as a family.

 

No, because Sam kept all of that for himself, even when he could have offered Dean copies.

 

He roots through boxes and locates old photographs, the few that John kept. He grabs their dad’s journal.

 

The next day, he shows up at Bobby’s, and he can tell that Bobby has seen the news. Bobby’s expression is wary, and Sam wonders if Bobby, at least, has spoken to Dean. He figures it’s not his place to ask.

 

“Dean’s birthday is coming up,” Sam says without preamble. “I thought I’d—I thought I’d make some copies of the photos I have, and Dad’s journal, and send them to him. If you have anything…”

 

He trails off, not knowing how to explain his reasoning, but Bobby offers an approving nod. “I have a few things I saved,” Bobby says. “Let me grab them.”

 

Bobby comes up with a few dozen more photos—Polaroids taken early on, poorly focused shots of the two of them as kids in the salvage yard, one or two of them with Bobby or with John or another hunter.

 

Sam gets copies made of all of it—the pages of the journal and the photographs—and then he boxes up the originals. He debates for a bit before he writes the letter, uncertain if it might be overstepping, but figuring he needs to include some explanation.

 

He starts and stops a dozen times, crumpling up pieces of paper and throwing them on the floor. Finally, he scrawls the note, folds it, and tosses it on top of the journal and the photos.

 

_Dear Dean,_

_I’ve kept these for too long. They belong to you, too. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to listen. I’m sorry for all of it, but mostly for blaming you for the things that were never your fault. Happy birthday._

_Your brother always,_

_Sam_

 

When Sam mails it, he puts a tracking number on it just to be sure it’s delivered, but he has no expectation of a response.

 

But his heart is lighter, and he thinks he can wait for as long as it takes.


End file.
